Yamaji, We Have a Problem
by grimmfeather
Summary: A humorous scene in a Spirit Academy lecture hall has Ukitake scrambling to avert disaster. Features Ukitake and Kyouraku back in their Academy days. No pairings.
1. Sawing Logs

I've had this bit for a while, trying to continue it. I finally figured I should just submit it and _then_ work out the rest of it in future chapters. Enjoy!

-- -- -- -- -- --

"Don't think this could be any more boring, eh, Kyouraku?"

Silence.

"Kyouraku," Ukitake mumbled sleepily. When no response came, he tried again, slightly louder.

"_Kyouraku_."

With still no sign that his friend was even alive, Ukitake felt compelled to investigate further. However, it was an uphill battle to merely keep his _own_ eyelids from drooping. Supporting his head on his hand, Ukitake turned wearily to face his friend. He could barely contain a groan when he realized Shunsui was sound _asleep_. But with a glance at their sensei, Ukitake settled for dramatically rolling his eyes instead. It made less noise—and would attract far less attention to his snoozing classmate.

Ukitake sighed lightly as his sensei droned endlessly about senkai gates and "real-world" etiquette. For example, you're not supposed to stick your foot out and trip normal people just because they can't see you. _Hahaha—_ahem_. Come on, that's common sense. _

Currently, sensei's back was turned to the class in the large lecture hall. Ukitake knew that man had very sharp eyes for trouble-making students, so the next minute or so, before the shinigami turned around, might be Ukitake's only opportunity to wake his friend and keep him out of trouble.

_Why is it always _my_ responsibility to watch _**his**_ back?_ Ukitake wondered, smiling wryly to himself. _Hasn't he ever considered that _**I**_ might like to fall asleep in class for once?_

Ukitake glanced over at his dozing companion. Ah, but that was wishful thinking, Shunsui looked so peaceful like that, head on his desk and scruffy dark brown hair falling in his eyes. Ukitake almost hated to wake him up—until he realized with a start and a frown that his friend was _snoring_. _Loudly_ and like--oh, what do the mortals call it? "Like he was sawing logs in his sleep."

Then the situation became urgent.


	2. Red Alert

So--it was time for a change of tactics, a shift to drastic measures. Ukitake glanced furtively around the classroom, and it seemed many of his classmates had yet to notice his hitherto valiant attempts or Shunsui's near-unconscious state. _Good._ That was a relief, since there were several "goody-two-shoes" in the class who wouldn't hesitate to call them out in front of the teacher.

Ukitake's eyes then flicked down to the base of the lecture hall. Most fortunately for the two friends, sensei was still engaged in completing a series of blackboard illustrations (doodles, more accurately), which Ukitake and the half-attentive class were left to _assume_ related in some way to the material. Of course, there was no way to be sure, since sensei's drawing skills left much to the imagination. Ukitake tilted his head sideways and then to the left, trying to discern if that blob on the left was the senkaimon or. . .a chicken. Possibly even a giraffe, if you squinted a little and turned your head--

One of Shunsui's louder snores cut through his thoughts.

_Wait, I can't afford to get distracted!_ Ukitake shook himself mentally, realizing he had just wasted a precious few seconds. Ukitake had a mission and a purpose, which encompassed inconspicuously awakening Shunsui and simultaneously keeping the two of them out of trouble. In situations like this, one couldn't even entertain thoughts of failure.

_Time to get down to business._ Ukitake would have rolled up his sleeves to heighten the mood, time permitting, but the situation was starting to spiral out of control.

So Ukitake poked Shunsui. Then he poked Shunsui harder.

"_Kyouraku_," he hissed, voice low. "Kyouraku Shunsui, you need to wake up!"

No response. Another snore, louder and more obnoxious.

Ukitake's second tactic involved the ticklish spot on the back of Shunsui's neck. Ukitake had accidentally discovered it back when they were kids, wrapped up in some crazy game or other that had disintegrated into a tickling war.

So Ukitake brushed his fingers across Shunsui's neck, even enlisted the help of a random feather found lying on the floor, but his efforts were to no avail. Shunsui responded with a sleepy smile and some mumbling that sounded like, "brownies in the middle of the day go best with sake--"

Ukitake clapped his hand over Shunsui's mouth, eyes wide. Heaven forbid sensei should hear what Shunsui was muttering. _I thought I told him it was too risky to drink in the dorms. . ._, Ukitake silently chided, shaking his head.

Ukitake checked sensei's status and found the man _still_ pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard. _Thank goodness for boring, complicated diagrams_, Ukitake thought. _No, wait, that's not what I meant. . ._

But all his introspection was immediately forgotten as Ukitake realized, with a nice, long look around the room, that his actions were beginning to attract attention from the other students. _Uh oh, time to progress to stage three._

Now, stage three of Operation Wake Shunsui (OWS for short, and aptly so) involved a fairly desperate combination of actions on Ukitake's part, since by this point in the operation, he was usually beginning to run out of tactics that neither made noise nor drew a significant amount of attention.

Ukitake shook Shunsui by the shoulders. He pulled his hair. He tweaked his nose, rocked his chair, prodded him in the side with shaft of his thickest calligraphy brush. Ukitake stomped on Shunsui's feet, kicked him (gently) in the shins, and even dumped a small glass of water down the back of his kimono. But nothing was working! Shunsui shifted in his sleep, mumbled more stuff about swords and women and. . .brownies, and then began to _giggle_ and _laugh_ out loud while drooling on his notes!

By this time, nearly the entire class had discovered that Ukitake and his antics were far more interesting than any teacher's lecture.

But Ukitake scarcely noticed the numerous stares affixed in his direction. Whispered comments began to populate the room, but none of them mattered.

For Ukitake Jyuushirou was beginning to lose his patience.

Even worse, though, was the fact that sensei was nearly finished with the diagram, chicken or no. Ukitake recognized sensei's habit of shuffling his notes, an action the man repeated without fail--always just before he would return from the board to face the class.

Ukitake aimed one more last, valiant kick at Shunsui's shins. Still no cognitive response. Then a dangerous smirk crossed Ukitake's features as the ultimate strategy, the sure-fire and fail-proof tactic flitted into his brain. Now _that_ was something Shunsui could never resist, even in his deepest and most sound slumber.

Sensei was turning toward the class, while Ukitake had drawn the last straw and obviously wasn't thinking quite clearly-- _It's now or never!_

Suddenly, Ukitake shoved his chair back with a screech, abruptly standing up. He faced Shunsui, thrust his index finger at him, and shouted, announcing to Shunsui and the general public, "Kyouraku, I stole a pair of women's underwear!"

* * *

The silence in that classroom was more absolute than on the Moon, or in the depths of Hueco Mundo, or after Yamaji tears his clothes off while releasing his shikai. A couple girls fainted, a few perverted smiles slipped into place, and all the color drained from sensei's face.

And Shunsui woke up, slightly confused, but nonetheless looking eagerly for the. . .well, for the _underwear_.

Ukitake flushed the color of red camellias to the tips of his ears, wondering just where he should dig his proverbial hole in which to hide, quite possibly for the remainder of his young--and most certainly doomed--life.

After a good five minutes, sensei coughed lightly as a bit of color returned to his features.

"Ukitake Jyuushirou, you will see me in my office today at the end of my last class. Now, class dismissed."


	3. Mystery and Intrigue

_Wow, what a rough day_, Shunsui grumbled to himself as he fished in his schoolbag for his dorm key. Falling asleep in class, managing to get Jyuu in trouble _yet again_, losing his homework, and getting rejected by some more pretty girls as he showered them with _sincere_ love and affection--it was all in a day's work, but who was to say it wasn't exhausting?

On top of that, Shunsui still wasn't sure how Ukitake would react to the incident in class today. His best friend had (almost) always been a model student at the top of his class--but that's not to say that the two of them hadn't gotten into their fair share of trouble and sticky situations. Ukitake could be downright devious when given the opportunity. However, he'd _never_ been singled out in front of an entire class nor summoned to a professor's office after hours. He and Shunsui had always been partners-in-crime, sharing the blame if push came to shove.

_Isn't this all really my fault in the first place? Should I go with him, or would that get us in more trouble? Would Jyuu even let me fess up?_

Shunsui sighed, glancing at the clock that hung in the hallway. That particular professor's last class ended at five, so Ukitake still had an hour or two before he'd have to face the music.

Then Shunsui felt his fingers brush against the cold metal of the key, and he seized it immediately, victoriously shoving it into the lock of his and Ukitake's shared dorm room. _Home sweet home. . ._

"Jyuu, tadaima--" Shunsui stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, opened them wide, and blinked rapidly. _Sweet shunpo, what in heaven's name. . .?_

There was Ukitake, sitting half-slumped at the kitchen table, a rather sizeable bottle of amber liquid clutched in his right hand. He was swaying back and forth, eyes half-lidded, succeeding in a perfect imitation of Shunsui's traditional drunken stupor.

"Oh *hic*, it's you, Sh-shu. . . sui," Ukitake said, stumbling over his words. He clumsily stifled a giggle and flashed "Shusui" a watery, goofy smile.

Shunsui pinched himself. _I _**must**_ be dreaming. . . _He hesitated. _Wait, that's it!_ This entire day had been merely a figment of his sleep-bound imagination! He'd pinch himself a few times, then wake up and find himself cozily tucked in bed, left with just an amusing dream to relate to Ukitake later.

But Shunsui pinched himself again and again in earnest. The images weren't fading, and Ukitake just kept smiling stupidly at him from across the kitchen, taking a swig from the bottle every now and then.

This _might_ be a problem.

Shunsui didn't know where to start. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever considered Ukitake resorting to drowning his sorrows in the bottle. He'd always believed that the day he came home to find his roommate completely stoned would be the equivalent of pigs suddenly taking flight or some seemingly normal, average Joe from the real world suddenly acquiring shinigami powers. He chuckled. These notions were nonsense, the lot of them! But of course, they did crumble rather quickly in the face of Ukitake's obvious state of intoxication. What was the world coming to?

As Shunsui stood dumbstruck in the hallway, contemplating the demise of the universe, Ukitake obviously decided that his fellow student could benefit from loosening up a little and taking a load off. In accordance with this train of thought, Ukitake waltzed around the table and across the kitchen, avoiding a collision with the wall by mere centimeters, and stopping only when his face was squarely in front of Shunsui's, their noses almost touching.

Shunsui fortunately chose that moment to snap out of his reverie.

"Um, Jyuu, what are you--?" Shunsui began, a bit taken aback by the intensity in Ukitake's wide, brown eyes.

"Sh. . .shunsui, I'd think it was *hic* obvious!" Ukitake replied helpfully, giggling to himself.

But then Ukitake was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Shunsui could no longer focus on Ukitake's face. The fact that his roommate was dancing around him in a wavy circle was slightly distracting, to say the least. Ukitake grabbed Shunsui's hands and started twirling him around, laughing drunkenly the entire time. Shunsui was just a little too shocked to say or do anything but hang on for the ride--until Ukitake made another dive for the bottle, which had been left abandoned on the table. _Enough is enough, right? I can't watch him do this to himself--_

Shunsui nimbly intercepted Ukitake's path, grabbing his roommate by the shoulders and giving him a little shake.

"Ukitake, get a hold of yourself! What are you doing?" Shunsui demanded, a bit more harshly than he would have liked. Believe it or not, Ukitake's behavior had become slightly unsettling, and it had to stop.

Ukitake paused, blinking rapidly. Then he laughed in Shunsui's face.

Shunsui frowned. _It's not working. . .hey, wait a second!_ He had expected to be overwhelmed by the scent of alcohol that _should_ have fairly emanated from Ukitake. But Shunsui couldn't smell alcohol at all--and people always said he could sniff out sake from a mile away. Ukitake just stared at him blankly, not readily offering up any answers. So Shunsui inhaled deeply and caught the faint scent of--

Hold the phone.

Shunsui's hands dropped from Ukitake's shoulders as he strode to the table and picked up the bottle. He took in a whiff of the stuff, then raised the bottle to his lips and took a large gulp.

Shunsui stomped back to face Ukitake, glass clutched in his hand.

"Jyuushirou," he drew out Ukitake's name, voice deep and slightly threatening, "_this_," he thrust a finger at the offending bottle and its contents, "is _apple juice_."

Ukitake thought Shunsui's eyebrow just might fall off if it continued twitching at such a pace.

"Care to explain?"

And all Ukitake could do was grin sheepishly.


	4. You Never Thought You'd See the Day

Ack, sorry about the long wait! ^^; I hope there are still a few people who care to read this. . . At any rate, enjoy!

-- -- -- -- -- --

_Previously:_

Shunsui's hands dropped from Ukitake's shoulders as he strode to the table and picked up the bottle. He took in a whiff of the stuff, then raised the bottle to his lips and took a large gulp.

Shunsui stomped back to face Ukitake, glass clutched in his hand.

"Jyuushirou," he drew out Ukitake's name, voice deep and slightly threatening, "_this_," he thrust a finger at the offending bottle and its contents, "is _apple juice_."

Ukitake thought Shunsui's eyebrow just might fall off if it continued twitching at such a pace.

"Care to explain?"

And all Ukitake could do was grin sheepishly.

* * *

"Jyuu, what's going on here?" Shunsui demanded.

Ukitake coughed lightly, attempting to disguise a chuckle. It was overwhelming, the complexity of such a simple question. _How can I possibly reply to that?_ What had begun as another average, perfectly normal, run-of-the-mill day had ended up twisted into a strange series of events that Ukitake hardly felt capable to explain. First came the utter disaster of Shunsui's impromptu nap in the middle of class, followed by the sheer chaos that rode on the heels of Ukitake's own frustratingly embarrassing proclamation about women's underwear (_Of all things! What was I thinking? Shunsui's corrupted me. . ._), and finally—the icing on the cake—a personal summons to his teacher's office after hours. In the history of bad days that seemed to relentlessly plague Ukitake, he realized he'd hit a new all-time low.

After class, one thing had led to another, his predicament taking on a mind of its own and morphing into an obstacle insurmountable, fueled by worry and indecision, until Ukitake found himself in dire need of a distraction. Although, after such a bout of both mental and physical exertion, Ukitake found himself to be primarily incredibly _thirsty_. . .and only secondarily in need of a distraction for his weary mind.

So eventually, Ukitake found himself experimenting with some amber-colored liquid he had rescued from the barren, snowcapped depths of their dorm ice box. Oh, Ukitake knew that apple juice was certainly far from meriting designation as an alcoholic beverage, but he quickly discovered that it really _was_ the thought that counted, in an odd sort of way. If one applied enough will and brainpower to the situation, one could succeed in imagining that all the problems of the world and daily life could--and _would_--simply and happily fade away. Mind over matter, as they say. Sweet relief!

And, of course, once that burden was mercifully lifted from his shoulders, Ukitake found he had no difficulty engaging in the random bouts of bubbly happiness that Shunsui experienced with the assistance of alcohol--just without all the nasty side effects.

Presently, Ukitake managed to find his voice and proceeded to relay these facts to Shunsui in a brief, condensed fashion. After all, time was of the essence.

". . .so that's what happened," Ukitake concluded. He regarded Shunsui expectantly, waiting for his friend to burst into fits of laughter or at least crack a smile. But Shunsui's dark brown eyes reciprocated a steady gaze, studying Ukitake with equal intensity. The awkward silence stretched on. . .and on, weighing more heavily in the air with each passing moment. _What's the matter?_

For surely Shunsui could understand that Ukitake was caught neatly between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Ukitake couldn't very well explain to his sensei that his rather obnoxious outburst in the middle of the lecture had merely been a ploy to awaken Shunsui, since the professor would then have grounds on which to accuse Shunsui of sleeping in class. The only other option seemed to be pretending to admit to the theft of his female classmates' underwear. If Ukitake was to follow suit with such a confession, all hell was sure to break loose—a hell of the fiery, angry, overflowing-with-womanly-wrath type. Ukitake shuddered at the mere mental image. No, that option was simply out of the question.

As Ukitake shook himself out of that frightening reverie, he stumbled upon another, more immediate problem. Shunsui wasn't smiling. He wasn't talking. And he most certainly _wasn't_ laughing. Ukitake observed Shunsui's blank expression first with curiosity, having rarely regarded such a serious countenance upon his friend's normally jovial features, and then with growing concern, as he realized that something must be genuinely _wrong_ with Shunsui.

"Um. . .Shunsui? Is something the matter? Are you sick?" Ukitake asked lightly, airing on the side of caution. _It's always best to get these sorts of things out in the open, but when was the last time I saw him like—_

In truth, Shunsui was experiencing a bit of a dilemma himself, caught between the double dose of guilt trip and mild shock that Ukitake had catered in one eventful afternoon. Shunsui had been genuinely concerned about Ukitake's welfare (and rather his mental stability) during his supposed foray into the carefree land of alcohol. His friend's chronic lung disease was a separate matter entirely, but Shunsui couldn't stand to see Ukitake suffer under his own volition, even if the threat was only imagined. Not to mention the fact that Shunsui honestly blamed himself for Ukitake's current predicament, since the whole convoluted situation happened to be on his account in the first place. (_But he knows I can't help falling asleep in class. . .!_) Well, that guilt was water under the bridge now—and the only way to rectify the situation was to move forward. _And I know just the person. . ._

"Jyuushirou. . .this situation calls for backup," Shunsui pronounced suddenly, leveling Ukitake with a wonderfully dramatic smirk.

Ukitake blinked back at him in bewilderment, then chuckled as the gears clicked into place.

"Oh? And just what did you have in mind?"

A confident smile spread across Shunsui's features.

"Come on—we're going to talk to Unohana-senpai."


	5. Prelude to a Kiss Aboard a Runaway Train

Imaginary drumroll. . .here's part five of "Yamaji"! I apologize for taking the world's longest interval to update. m(__)m That said, there are witnesses who can attest to the fact that the next chapter is already on the drawing--err. . .writing board. Enjoy!

* * *

_Previously:_

"Jyuushirou. . .this situation calls for backup," Shunsui pronounced suddenly, leveling Ukitake with a wonderfully dramatic smirk.

Ukitake blinked back at him in bewilderment, then chuckled as the gears clicked into place.

"Oh? And just what did you have in mind?"

A confident smile spread across Shunsui's features.

"Come on—we're going to talk to Unohana-senpai."

* * *

So it came to pass that Shunsui all but arbitrarily selected their next course of action, being so wholly absorbed in his scheming that he neither paused to hear Ukitake's entreating objections nor considered the possible consequences of his chosen strategy. But Ukitake, having not genuinely expected much else, merely sighed and pulled up a chair, deigning to at least make himself comfortable while observing Shunsui's devious mutterings as he conjured up the final stages of their plan. As evidenced by their countless offenses of childhood mischief and their mild reputation as troublemakers that stubbornly persisted to the day—_that's a reputation well-earned and well-met, evidently—_Ukitake had learned early on that Shunsui's plotting was nearly impossible to derail once the proverbial train had left the station—and this particular train was long gone already, puffing down the tracks.

Somewhere lost in the moments between Ukitake absentmindedly praising himself for the aptitude of his runaway train analogy and his pondering how to convert it into something suitably worthy of next week's poetry and literature oral, Shunsui apparently reached the desired conclusion of his musings and made for the door at a sprint with nothing more than an excited, "Come on, Jyuu!" called over his shoulder to serve as segue. Ukitake blinked, taken aback by Shunsui's suspicious sudden surge of energy, and rose to follow despite his doubts, wholly unenthused and vaguely hoping against his better judgment that this certain idea wouldn't be quite as half-baked or ill-concocted as the last, say, forty-five or so had been.

_But who's counting?_

Shunsui trounced valiantly down the hallway, tramped down four flights of stairs, and traversed the delicately landscaped expanse of the courtyard in a dramatic billow of dark blue hakama, bare feet, and battered straw hat, clearly bound for the girls' dormitory. Ukitake could do little but trail lamely along behind him, struggling to keep pace with his friend's long, assertive strides.

As they marched through (more often than around) formerly neatly trimmed flowerbeds and skillfully pruned bonsai, Ukitake contemplated the little more than two hours remaining before his appointed doomsday. He recalled the plentiful, marvelously descriptive _rumors_ that had circulated through the gossip mill concerning this particular sensei and the unorthodox methods he employed to deal with problem students. One such unfortunate soul had reported that he had been assigned to serve as the target for freshman kidou drills, while another had been tasked with washing Yamamoto-sensei's laundry for two weeks. Ukitake shuddered involuntarily, arriving at the grim conclusion that any sane shinigami would need therapy after such an ordeal.

_Heavens, Shunsui, this had better work. . .!_

Ukitake mused resignedly that his last hope lay with Unohana-senpai. Despite unexpectedly harboring a sadistic streak a mile wide when it came to the defense of her medical patients, Unohana Retsu was a brilliant Spirit Academy graduate who was rapidly gaining fame as a legendary healer. She had stayed on at the Academy as a teaching associate after her graduation two years previously and had become a trusted confidante of students and patients alike. She was a close friend of Shunsui and Ukitake's (though she absolutely refused to tolerate any of Shunsui's womanizing antics), and Ukitake saw her on a biweekly professional basis to monitor the progressive condition of his lung disease. Certainly, if Unohana-senpai were involved, Ukitake just might be able to survive this day from Hueco Mundo after all. . ._right?_

Thoroughly immersed in this train of thought—_ugh, now it just sounds like a bad pun_, Ukitake grumbled—and distractedly focused on the ground passing beneath his feet, Ukitake paid no heed to the warning bells in his peripheral vision nor to the fact that Shunsui had halted his steps directly ahead, and he skillfully managed to blindly barrel full-speed into Shunsui's back, knocking the both of them to the ground.

They lay still in a rumpled heap for a moment, Ukitake attempting to puzzle out how in the King's name the wonderfully blue sky had gotten where the ground was supposed to be, until Shunsui burst into surprised laughter beneath him and struggled up to offer Ukitake a hand and yank him to his feet.

"At least you didn't crush my hat," came Shunsui's voice, bright and cheery, as he lovingly stroked said hat, giving it a once-over as if to check for any damage incurred. "It's one of a kind, you know."

His sense of space and gravity righted once more, Ukitake fairly giggled in response, glancing over at Shunsui and the object of his adoration. Ukitake brushed stray blades of grass from his hair and hakama, feeling delightfully silly in spite of their rather pressing predicament and smirking wryly to himself as he imagined how negatively Shunsui's female admirers might react were they to see how well he treated that hat.

"You can't blame me for being in a rush, can you? I can't wait to see this magnificent plan of yours in action," Ukitake replied, still laughing yet honestly awaiting some sort of revelation as to just exactly how Shunsui expected to gain entry into the secured girls' dormitory, and, moreover, how he intended to do so from their current location in the desolate patch of grass flanking the building. They both knew quite well that Unohana-senpai's room was on the second story, her window some twenty feet above their heads. Short of using shunpo to effectively levitate to the window sill, Ukitake assumed they had reached an impasse and had thus discovered a fatal flaw in Shunsui's predictably far-from-fool-proof plan. _I knew it was too good to be true. . ._

But before Ukitake could plunge too far down the path of utter despair and be assaulted by haunting visions of Yamamoto-sensei's dirty laundry, Shunsui, timely for once, interrupted his reverie.

"My plan? C'mon, Jyuu, I'd bet money you're thinking what I'm thinking," Shunsui said with an enigmatic chuckle and even more cryptic wink. When Ukitake answered with naught but a blank stare, Shunsui conspiratorially nodded in the direction of the second-story window as if bequeathing a significant clue.

But, _no_, Ukitake honestly still hadn't the foggiest idea to what Shunsui's discreet gestures might be alluding. In response to Ukitake's blatant bewilderment, Shunsui helpfully snatched up an onigiri-sized rock from near the foundation of the dormitory, and Ukitake merely raised his eyebrows and watched, perplexed and obviously nonplussed.

"Just watch and learn. We'll improvise."

And with that, Shunsui wound his arm tight like a pitcher on his mound, the rock cradled securely between his fingers.

"Shunsui, _wait_! I don't think that's the best—"

But understanding had dawned a moment far too late for Ukitake, as Shunsui had already lobbed the rock in a reiatsu-fueled arcing trajectory bound directly for Unohana's window. The rock's flight path, of course, did not halt at the glass, and a great shattering sound assailed their ears. _Home run._

In the surreal moment that ensued, crammed flush between thoughts of, _It's all over!_ and _We're too young to die!_, Ukitake mused absently that Shunsui could have had a stellar career as a top-notch baseball player in the real world. And then that last fragile scrap of peace fractured like the few splinters of glass that tumbled over Unohana-senpai's window sill and into the grass below.

Ukitake's flight instinct and a wave of adrenaline immediately overwhelmed him, the primitive part of his brain pleading fervently with him to make a break for survival. But as Ukitake turned to run and drag Shunsui along out of harm's way, he realized with a dazed start that Shunsui did not appear intimidated in the least, let alone in fear for his life. Ukitake opened his mouth to attempt voicing some coherent thought to that effect, but Shunsui's attention was occupied elsewhere.

"Oh, Hana-chan~! My lovely, lovely Hana-chan~! Won't you let us see your pretty face?" Shunsui crowed giddily up at the broken window.

Ukitake swore on the spot that Shunsui must have spontaneously gone mad. No man _anywhere near_ his right mind or in possession of even half his faculties, marbles, or what-have-you would dare in his wildest dreams to address Unohana-senpai in such a manner. Shunsui was a dead man. _And I am, too, for that matter._

No sooner had Ukitake reached this daunting conclusion than he heard the telltale launch of return fire, some sort of great projectile sailing through the air. As the well-aimed missile honed in on its target, Shunsui had the good sense to duck neatly beneath its soaring track, obviously accustomed to such feats of acrobatics in self-preservation. Ukitake, however, was caught unawares by the sheer mass of senpai's chosen ammunition and foolishly underestimated its course. As the projectile connected squarely with his forehead, Ukitake was hurled backwards to meet solid ground once more, splayed out flat on his back in the grass and having suffered a one-hit knockout courtesy of _A Treatise on the Particle Nature of Kidou, Volume V_.

As Ukitake hovered on the edge of consciousness and the sickeningly spinning sky threatened to fade into a dizzying black, Shunsui's strangely fuzzy outline rushed to his side, and Ukitake could just barely discern a distant gasp and the vibrating sensation of pounding footsteps. But then the colors were swallowed by the advancing black shroud, and Ukitake's last lucid thought vaguely demanded to know why—_in the name of all that was good_—he had even bothered to get out of bed that morning. _Well, there's that. . .but next time, I want something with a bit of a stronger kick than apple juice. Where does Shunsui keep the hard liquor, I wonder. . ._


End file.
